Fathers and Sons
by Syl
Summary: 14yearold Dick Grayson arrives at his new home, Wayne Manor, only to discover a cold welcome.


Title: Fathers and Sons Author: Syl Francis Email: efrancis@earthlink.net Part: 1/1 Rating: PG13 Word count: 6,561 

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Summary: After fourteen-year-old Dick Grayson comes to live at Wayne Manor, he must cope with loneliness and feelings of rejection from its two seemingly cold inhabitants. 

Acknowledgement: I finally read the retcon issue of Robin Annual #4, and must admit that I was shocked at its depiction of Alfred. As far as Bruce goes, I've just about given up any hope that the current Bat-writers will allow him real human feelings. World's Finest #4 was the last straw! I just had to write *something* in response to the travesty that these two issues have made of the inner characters of the two most important men in Dick Grayson's life. 

Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome! Copyright 1999 

**** 

Fathers and Sons by Syl Francis 

"Man's loneliness is but his fear of life." (Eugene O'Neill) 

**** 

"A plague o' both your houses!" Dick, as Mercutio, cried out. "They have made worm's meat of me . . ." Okay, Grayson, Dick thought, don't overplay it. Die with anger, but with dignity. Remember what Alfred said. 

Alfred played on the London stage in his younger days, and his coaching helped Dick to finally nail the pivotal character of Mercutio in his school's production of _Romeo and Juliet_. 

Mercutio died. 

Dick could hear sobs coming from some of the mothers in the audience. The knowledge that his own mother would never be in an audience during one of his performances brought him a momentary pang of regret. 

There was no one left who would ever care one way or another if Dick Grayson performed on the trapeze or in a school play or participated in any extracurricular activity. 

Can it, Grayson. At least Alfred made it, he thought. Bruce was in Metropolis; something about someone spying on Superman. 

Yeah, Bruce, Dick thought resignedly. The Man of Steel really needs you to fight his battles for him. 

How did Bruce put it when he received the invitation addressed to "The Parents of Dick Grayson"? 

**** 

"I'm not your parent, Dick," Batman said dismissively, not taking his eyes off the Cray monitors. He was intent on discovering the source of a covert satellite surveillance on Superman and didn't have time to discuss school plays. 

"I thought you understood that. I'm your mentor . . . your teacher. I'm not your father." 

"Sure, I understand, Bruce. My parents are dead. Thanks for the reminder." Dick crumpled the invitation in his hand, then spun on his heel and walked out of the Batcave. 

"Yes, Master Bruce," Alfred said quietly. "That was quite a thoughtful reminder. Heaven forbid that Master Dick might ever forget his loss; that he might ever grow to believe that there may be someone here who actually cares about him." 

Alfred gave Bruce a bland look devoid of accusation, then he too walked out of the cave. 

Bruce stared pensively at Alfred's retreating back, his computer search momentarily forgotten. 

**** 

As 'Benvolio' dragged Dick offstage, Benvolio whispered, "You were terrific, Dick! I think half the girls in the audience are in love with you!" 

Jimmy Trane, one of Dick's classmates, tried to maintain the serious/sad look of Benvolio, but Dick saw a smile begin to break through. Jimmy had to be the sunniest person in the whole school. He was always smiling. 

When they were safely offstage, Dick stood up and shook Jimmy's hand. Jimmy grinned. 

"Be grateful you weren't pretty enough to play Juliet!" Jimmy teased. "Or, at least that your voice already changed!" 

Dick grinned ruefully in turn. 

"Yeah, terrific," Dick said. 

The boys attended Gotham City Preparatory, an exclusive all boys' prep school, which annually put on a Shakespearean production with an all male cast. 

Being the new boy at school, Dick figured that he'd be involved in staging or props, but some wag campaigned that Dick was just too pretty to be hidden backstage. Some of the upperclassmen even suggested that Dick play Juliet. Thankfully, the drama coach instead selected a Freshman whose voice hadn't changed yet. 

This was Dick's first year at Prep, and he felt largely like an outsider. Most of the students came from Gotham's most privileged families. They had grown up with money, and took luxury and its accompanying trappings for granted. Dick didn't fit in, and with the exception of Jimmy, he'd made few friends. 

Besides, because of his responsibilities as Robin, Dick didn't really have time for extracurricular activities; however, this play was an all-school production, and the entire student body was required to participate. 

Furthermore, to assuage the boys' natural reticence in playing women's roles, Mr. Carter, the school's visiting Artist in Residence and acting drama coach, explained that in Shakespeare's time only males were allowed on stage; therefore, the boys were putting on a realistic Renaissance production. 

Dick felt strangely out of kilter, standing here in this place and time. Just last year, he'd been flying on the trapeze, part of a family of aerialists, the Flying Graysons. Now, during the day, he was just another well-scrubbed face in a blue blazer, matching tie, and grey slacks. Sometimes, everything just seemed so unreal. 

Then at night, he donned his red, green, and yellow Robin costume, and Dick became the Batman's crime fighting partner, the second half of the Dynamic Duo, Batman and Robin. Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place. 

When Dick first arrived at Wayne Manor, Bruce hadn't been able to enroll him in any of the private schools already in session; therefore, Alfred, the Wayne Manor butler, tutored Dick for the duration of the school term. Of course, Alfred's tutoring included a few subjects that weren't usually included in the standard curriculum. 

As Dick watched 'Romeo' kill 'Tybalt' in revenge, his mind raced back several months. He ruefully remembered how *thrilled* Alfred initially felt at being saddled with a kid . . . 

**** 

Dick stood back in the shadows, listening to Bruce and Alfred discuss him; an overwhelming sense of loneliness washed over him. 

He'd just finished his workout when Alfred and Bruce walked into the cave in the middle of an argument. When Dick realized that he was the subject of the argument, he hid in the gloom afforded by the cave's numerous stalagmites. 

"A child, sir?" Alfred asked. "I must tutor a child? But, sir, I must protest! My duties here require the utmost time and dedication. How am I to find the time to *fit in* a school day as well?" 

But Bruce insisted; after all, *he* didn't have the time to teach Dick the ABCs of criminology. 

"I have the utmost confidence in you, Alfred," Batman said striding towards the Batmobile. "You teach him the basics . . . forensics, police procedure, that sort of thing . . . I'll concentrate on his physical training. When you say he's ready for Batman's tutoring, I'll take over." 

Batman paused at the driver's side to the Batmobile. 

"I'll be back by dawn." With that he climbed into the super-turbocharged Batmobile, slammed the driver's side door, brought up the powerful engine's rpms, and roared out of the Batcave. 

They don't want me here, Dick thought. Why am I here anyway? 

Dick stepped forward. 

"You don't have to spend any time with me, you know," he said. "I'm old enough to take care of myself. I brought down Zucco and his partner, didn't I?" 

Gaining momentum, he pointed an angry finger at Alfred. 

"I don't *need* you! I don't need *him*! I don't need *any*body!" 

Dick threw his towel on the floor. 

"I'm leaving. I'm going back to the circus. And you can tell that playboy pal of yours that I don't need his money, either!" 

Dick started running up the stairs leading to the Manor. 

"Wait! Master Dick, I didn't mean--" 

Dick whirled around. 

"Yes, you did! And don't try to lie your way out of it! You and your boss made it clear from the start that I'm not welcome here! I don't even know why he bothered bringing me to this mausoleum! He doesn't want to spend any time with me. He doesn't talk to me! He avoids me every chance he gets!" 

Dick paused, angry tears beginning to threaten. 

"And you! You made it clear that you hated kids; that you didn't even want to be in the same room with me. I don't know, maybe you think circus people are dirty or something! Or maybe you have something against the Romany . . . You sure wouldn't be the first person to be bigoted against the Rom!" 

Alfred looked shocked at the boy's outburst. He was about to protest, but Dick wasn't about to let him defend himself. 

"Well, my Mom and Dad were the best people in the world! We Graysons can trace our circus roots all the way back to Renaissance England when the first of our people crossed over from Eastern Europe! I'm proud of my heritage. Maybe we didn't have a lot of money, but what we had was more important. We had each other. We had love . . . something that no one in this frigid house seems to know anything about, least of all your boss! And as for you . . . Never mind; it doesn't matter. I'm outta here. Tell Bruce thanks, but no thanks!" 

Dick stalked out of the Batcave and quickly made his way to his room. *His room*! Dick shook his head bitterly. There was nothing to even show that Dick Grayson had been living here for almost ten weeks. He wasn't allowed to move anything, touch anything. His first week, Dick tried to move a portrait of an older couple, Bruce's parents he found out later, and put his own parents' portrait in its place, but Alfred had gone ballistic . . . 

**** 

"Under *no* circumstances is this portrait to *ever* be moved, do you understand?" Alfred demanded. 

He grabbed the picture from Dick's hands and carefully returned it to its place of honor on top of the room's fireplace mantle. There were a few other objects in the room that Alfred then pointed out as being untouchable: a rocking horse and a child's train set. 

Dick nodded curtly, his hurt hidden behind an inscrutable mask. When Alfred left the room, Dick took his parents' portrait and carefully placed it back in his carryall. 

Afterwards, Dick avoided any unnecessary contact with the Wayne butler, choosing to spend most of his time in the Batcave endlessly training. Eventually, Bruce mentioned school. He had Dick tested and was surprised by the test results. 

"You show an incredibly high IQ, Dick but you also have some serious gaps in your formal education." 

Dick dropped his eyes in shame. 

"I'm sorry, Bruce. School's tough when you're constantly on the move with the circus. Mom and several of the other performers took turns tutoring the circus kids, but it wasn't the same as attending a regular school." 

Dick shrugged his shoulders at the seeming hopelessness of the situation. 

"Pop Haly tried to provide us with a certified teacher during the off-season, but a lot of the kids just grew discouraged and gave up without ever finishing their high school equivalency." 

"Dick, I promise you that this is not a problem," Bruce said quietly. "Alfred can tutor you, and with hard work and perseverance, you should soon be up to grade level. We can then see about enrolling you at Gotham Prep. The school chancellor is an old family friend, and he understands these things. He says that if you can pass their entrance exam this Spring, then it shouldn't be difficult to have a slot for you in the Fall term." 

"Alfred? Bruce, I don't think that that's such a good idea. I mean, he doesn't really like kids, you know." Dick wanted to add, "He doesn't like me." 

"Who, Alfred? Are you kidding? Dick, Alfred raised me! Of course, he likes kids. Alfred just doesn't like change. He'll come around, don't worry." 

They were suddenly interrupted. 

"Bruuu-uce!" A stunning blonde in a tennis outfit that didn't leave much to the imagination appeared at the door to the study. "Bruce," she said pouting. "I've been waiting all alone for almost ten minutes. Really! I thought you loved me!" 

She smiled at Dick. 

"Oh, Brucie, who is your handsome young friend? I didn't know you had a little brother!" She walked up to Dick. "Hi, gorgeous! I'm Candy Sweet . . . I'm a model. And you are?" 

"Uh, I'm Dick, uh, Grayson. Uh, I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Sweet," Dick mumbled, blushing furiously. 

"Oh, please, call me Candy. In fact," she smiled, running her hand suggestively through Dick's hair, "when you're about four years older, call me anytime!" 

If Dick blushed before in embarrassment, he'd reached the point of a full-body flush. He'd *never* had a girl, much less a *lady*, act this way around him. He looked desperately at Bruce for help. 

The look of cold fury that crossed Bruce's countenance would have stopped the Joker in his tracks! Bruce reached for Candy's wrist, then surprisingly gently, but firmly, he removed her hand from his ward's hair. 

Dick gave his guardian a grateful smile. Oblivious to the silent messages being passed between Bruce and Dick, Candy turned to Bruce, and pouting again, she took her free hand and ran it up his arm. 

"Bruce, how long are you going to leave me outside, all alone?" 

Dick watched fascinated as Bruce transformed from the man he'd been growing to know and respect to playboy Bruce Wayne. 

"Candy, darling, forgive me!" Bruce said, smiling vacuously. "I didn't realize I'd been neglecting you. Dick, if you'll excuse us?" 

Dick gave Bruce what looked more like a grimace than a polite smile. When Bruce and Candy walked out, Dick stared after them for a few more minutes. 

Bruce's earlier statement that Alfred raised him echoed in Dick's mind. At the time, he'd wondered why . . . 

**** 

. . . It didn't matter any more, Dick thought looking around the sterile bedroom. He heard that the Haly Circus was in Keystone City. That's where he was going. He packed the few things that he'd had with him when he arrived a few months ago, an extra pair of jeans, a couple of old tee shirts that had seen better days, underwear, and socks. Dick wouldn't take anything that *they* had bought him. 

Dick didn't want any reminders of his stay here. He didn't want to be reminded of people who pretended to want to be your friend, but who couldn't stand to be in the same room with you. He-- 

"Master Dick." 

Dick froze. Refusing to turn, he continued stuffing his carryall. 

"Master Dick, please," Alfred's voice was quietly pleading. "At least give me a chance to explain. I know that I've behaved abominably, and I deserve your contempt, but please, allow me a chance to make amends." 

"Why?" Dick whirled around. "You afraid your job might be on the line, Alfie? Don't worry. I doubt Brucie-boy will even *notice* I'm gone. Besides, with me outta the way, everything here will return to *normal*--whatever the Hell *normal* is around here!" 

Alfred walked towards Dick and gently tried to pry his carryall from him. Dick refused to release his grip at first, but finally, reluctantly let go and sat down on the bed. 

Alfred began to remove the few items that Dick carelessly tossed into the carryall; he then began to fold each piece of clothing carefully. Eventually, his hand came across something smooth and hard wedged into an inside pocket. Alfred tugged gently and pulled it out. It was a framed picture of Dick and his parents in their Flying Graysons' outfits. 

Alfred immediately realized that this portrait was why Dick had removed the Waynes' photograph all those weeks ago. The Wayne butler felt an overwhelming sense of loss and shame wash over him. 

"I know that I don't deserve a second chance, Master Dick. I admit that I resented your presence." 

Dick jumped up suddenly. 

"Well, don't worry, Alf! You won't have to resent my presence any more!" 

"Please, Master Dick. Sit down. Allow me a chance to speak. Then if you still wish to leave, I shan't attempt to stop you. In fact, I shall drive you to the nearest airport if you should wish it." 

Dick looked at Alfred suspiciously. Finally, he nodded and sat back down. 

"As I said, young sir . . . I *did* resent your presence. You see, since Master Bruce was about six, it has only been he and I. Once he lost his parents, I was all he had. He's been like a son to me. I've seen to his every need, looked after him, and assisted him when he plunged into this terrible venture." 

Dick interrupted. 

"I don't understand. Did Bruce lose *his* parents when he was a kid? What happened?" 

"It was a terrible night, Master Dick. Master Bruce and his parents were leaving a movie theater. Doctor Wayne had given me the night off, so I wasn't waiting for them when they emerged. He'd parked the car about a block away; the family had but a short walk to reach it. It was a clear night, and they were walking in a safe neighborhood." 

Alfred shook his head in remembered pain. 

"Apparently, seemingly out of no where, a gunman appeared and demanded that Doctor Wayne give him all of his money. The doctor refused, of course, and attempted to overcome the villain. But the gunman was too quick, and he shot Doctor Wayne through the heart. He must've died instantly. Then, he killed poor Mrs. Wayne. For some reason he spared young Master Bruce, but the young master was never the same afterwards." 

Alfred paused, overcome by the pain and hurt that his young charge had experienced that night and every night since then. 

"He was in shock for almost six months. He'd stare for hours at a time, not speaking. I had to force him to eat, otherwise his meals would sit untouched. I was afraid that I'd lost him, too. Thank God, he finally came out of his fugue. One night, I heard him crying in his sleep; when I woke him up, he clung to me for several minutes crying. He'd finally remembered." 

Alfred shook his head. Dick listened fascinated, feeling strangely sorry for a little boy that he'd never met. 

"But he was never the same, Master Dick. Before, Master Bruce had been such a happy child . . . always laughing, running through the house, pulling boyish pranks on his father. Afterwards . . . he crept silently through the house; he sat for hours in the study looking at his parents' portrait. He still forgot to eat sometimes, so I was forced to continuously remind him." 

Alfred looked intently at Dick. 

"When he witnessed your parents' murder, it must've all come back to him. He saw himself in you, Master Dick. Don't think for an instant that he doesn't want you here. He does, but he doesn't know how to show it." When Alfred said this, Dick suddenly recalled the incident with Candy. That was the last time Dick could remember seeing her at the Manor. In fact, now that he thought about it, Dick realized that that was the last time that *any* of Bruce's bubble-headed dates visited here. 

Did Bruce stop inviting them in order to protect his ward from any further inappropriate advances? Was this his way, as Alfred put it, of *showing* Dick how he felt? Dick wished he could be sure; he wished Bruce would talk to him like his Dad used to. 

He turned his attention to Alfred who was still talking. 

"If Master Bruce seems to be avoiding you, it's because when he sees you, he sees himself. When he sees you suffering, he relives his own pain." 

Alfred's eyes dropped in shame. 

"That's why I resented you, young sir. I couldn't bear the thought of Master Bruce being forced to relive that past pain all over again. I saw the same haunted look in your eyes that I'd seen in young Master Bruce. I couldn't bear to see it all over again; to see Master Bruce suffering again. But I was wrong, Master Dick, to resent you. I should've been trying to help you with your pain, instead, I caused you even more." 

Alfred slowly met Dick's eyes. 

"Please, young sir, could you find it in your heart to forgive a foolish old man? This house *is* cold, Master Dick. It's forgotten how to love. I think that you are exactly what this house needs to become a real home again. Master Dick, I don't pretend to know everything, but I *do* know this: Master Bruce needs you. As much as you need a home and someone to love you, he needs someone to care for. Someone to give him hope; someone to keep him sane. I believe that *you* are that someone, Master Dick. Please, will you reconsider remaining here?" 

Dick listened to Alfred's sad tale of a lonely little boy who never seemed to have grown up. As young as Dick was, he instinctively knew that the Dark Knight, the man whom he had been steadily growing to love and respect, was still that little traumatized boy who'd witnessed his parents' murder. That boy had shut himself off from the rest of world and protected himself with this aura of mystery. He'd been hurt by the badman when he was a boy, now he was in turn hurting all the badmen. 

Reaching a decision, Dick nodded his head. Alfred smiled gratefully. Man and boy stood then and shook hands. They each knew that they'd made a silent pact between them to protect the one man whom they each had grown to love in their own way. 

Eventually, Dick and Alfred became friends. In fact, Alfred became Dick's best friend and confidant . . . 

**** 

Within a few months, Alfred declared that Dick was ready to be mentored by Bruce. At this point, Dick discovered that he hadn't learned anything after all. The training that he began under Bruce rivaled the training at the FBI Academy at Quantico, not to mention the elite SWAT training of the GCPD, or the Navy's SEAL School. 

Early that summer before Dick enrolled in school, Bruce took him on a special survival training course in the Mojave Desert. 

"The Mercury astronauts had to do something like this," Bruce said. "You'll have a knife. That's all. I will drop you off in the middle of the desert at night. Your job is to survive for three days on your own, and make it to this rendezvous point. Alfred and I will be waiting for you." 

Bruce looked steadily at his ward, then held up a tiny micro-transmitter. 

"This will be sewn into the collar of your jumpsuit. I will keep track of you through this. You are free to quit at any time; in the case of an emergency that you're unable to handle, all you have to do is remove the transmitter and push this red button. It's an emergency beacon. I'll dispatch an immediate transport to pick you up at the time." 

He gave Dick a half-smile. 

"Ready?" 

Dick's answering grin almost lit up the Batcave. 

"You bet! And you don't need to sew that old transmitter into *my* collar! I'm Romany, remember? The Rom have been living off the land for centuries. This is gonna be a piece of cake!" 

"Well, just humor me, then," Bruce replied. 

While Dick's stint in the desert hadn't exactly been a piece of cake, as he'd said, it had been exciting. Dick's intensive training leading up to his desert adventure left nothing to chance. He'd learned about navigating without a compass; counting his paces to estimate distance traveled. 

He knew how to build a shelter from minimum resources, how to build a fire, and more importantly, how to find water. By the time Bruce dropped him off, blindfolded, at night, in the middle of nowhere, Dick knew how to get his bearings and begin his long trek to the rendezvous point. 

When he found the campsite, Dick felt a sudden surge of pride fill him. He did it! He survived with little more than his wits and determination. 

"Would you gentlemen care for some rabbit?" he asked. 

"Master Dick!" Alfred exclaimed jumping up. "Let me look at you, young sir!" 

Alfred surveyed his new charge critically. Dick had an ugly welt on his forehead. He'd banged it when he slipped unexpectedly and fell down from a short height. He had several scratches on his face and hands. He was exceptionally dirty and smelled like he hadn't had a bath in three days. Which he hadn't. 

The boy looked wonderful to Alfred. 

"Hmpf. We shall have to see about a bath immediately! A set of clean clothes is laid out for you in the camper, Master Dick. Might I suggest--strongly--that you take immediate advantage of the hot water and take a shower. Now." 

Dick grinned and held out the rabbit that he'd caught less than an hour ago. 

Alfred grimaced and held out his hand. 

"Here, Master Dick. Allow me take your . . . game," Alfred said with distaste. "I shall endeavor to cook it. Somehow." 

Bruce stood in the shadows. He hadn't said a word yet. He just watched his young ward and his faithful friend as they bantered easily with one another. He envied Alfred his ability to be so comfortable with Dick. Bruce always felt the words he wanted to say choke in his throat. He felt very proud of Dick at the moment. The boy had only been training for a few months and he had already proven his wilderness survival skills. The next phase would be survival in a different type of wilderness: the Urban Jungle. 

Dick noticed Bruce watching him. He turned to his mentor and gave him his best smile. Bruce could almost feel the shadows receding in Dick's bright presence. 

"I told you that the Rom had been living off the land for centuries. Gee, Bruce, when does the *real* challenge begin?" 

Bruce gave Dick a half-smile. 

"Go take a bath, Brat! If it's a challenge you want, it's a challenge you'll get. Now scat!" 

**** 

When they returned home, Dick's training really began. By August, Bruce felt that Dick was ready for his "final exam." Robin was to spend one entire night alone in Gotham City and avoid being found by Batman. 

"That's my Final Exam?" Dick said laughing. "Get real, Bruce! My people have a talent for avoiding the police; Dad told me once that we've turned this *knack* into a real science. I think I can manage to keep you from catching me for just a few hours." 

Bruce didn't return Dick's smile. 

"This will be dangerous, Dick. You're still just a kid, and Gotham City is a dangerous place during the *day*! At night, it'll make the desert training you went through seem like a Sunday afternoon in the park. Some of our less savory residents may find a lone boy dressed in that get-up as too irresistible a target to leave alone." 

Dick blushed, but he stood his ground. 

"I know it isn't a game, Bruce. I know it's dangerous. Just like the trapeze was dangerous. But I knew every time I went up that I'd been trained by the best in the business, my Mom and Dad. I knew that I'd had the best training in the world. And each time I went up and performed the quadruple spin, I proved it to the world!" 

Dick paused and held his guardian's eyes calmly. 

"It's the same way now. I know that I've been trained by the best in the business--the Batman! I know that I've had the best training possible in the whole world. I'm ready, Bruce. You just name the day and time, and I'll prove it!" 

Bruce stared intently into his ward's eyes. It was now or never. Did he want this boy who placed so much faith and trust in him to begin a life as a crime fighter? Shouldn't he allow him to have a "normal" life? Dick certainly deserved it. He was such a great kid--probably one of the brightest kids Bruce had ever met. 

Bruce felt extraordinarily proud of the boy at the moment. Dick met and excelled at every challenge that Bruce had imposed on him. Finally, Bruce nodded. 

"Okay, Dick. I'll give you a couple more weeks to train and get ready. But two weeks from tonight, you go out for your final exam!" 

"All right!" Dick cried out exultantly. "Did you hear that, Alfred? Two weeks!" 

Dick didn't wait for a response; he ran onto the floor mat and executed three somersaults in rapid succession. While still airborne, he caught one of the climbing ropes, and immediately hauled himself up. His momentum carried him forward to the high bar; he released his grip on the rope, then caught the high bar and executed several elaborate moves. He released the bar and went flying towards the rings where he again went through an exceptionally complicated routine--one that perhaps only one other person in the world could best. 

Alfred watched sadly as the boy went from one apparatus to another in his exuberance. Alfred had hoped that the training would never reach this point; he'd hoped that Master Bruce would never consider the boy ready for the final exam. More than anything, he'd prayed that Master Bruce would change his mind at the last moment, and instead allow Master Dick to become his research assistant only. 

It looked like Robin, the Boy Wonder, was going to fly after all . . . 

**** 

Now, several months later, Dick Grayson stood in the wings of the school stage. He watched as 'Baltazar' erroneously informed 'Romeo' of Juliet's death. Dick watched the tragic drama play itself out to its inevitable conclusion . . . 

"O happy dagger! This is thy sheath. There rust, and let me die." 'Juliet' fell on 'her' Romeo, dead. By now, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Dick heard 'Romeo' hiss at 'Juliet.' 

"Hey, bozo! Get *off* me!" 

"Shut up!" 'Juliet' hissed back. "You wanna ruin the play?" 

Dick and Jimmy looked at each other and smothered a laugh. The final scene was drawing to a close. Jimmy pointed at 'Montague' who looked like he was about to burst into laughter over Romeo and Juliet's bickering. 

As the curtain went down on the solemn scene, Juliet let out a most unladylike belch. The audience took a moment to react, but finally burst into laughter. Mr. Carter looked like he was going to burst into tears. 

"Those two!" he cried despairingly. "Everything was going so well! How could they purposely ruin the end?" 

Carter turned to his production assistant. 

"I've *had it* with these spoiled brats! This has probably been the single worst experience of my career! The Actor's Studio of New York offered me a position. I think that I'm going to accept. Immediately!" Dick gave Carter a sympathetic smile. Poor guy, Dick thought. He wondered if Juliet had acted on a dare and shook his head in amazement. If *he'd* ever purposely ruined a performance, his Dad would've killed him! Or grounded him permanently. In either case, his career as an aerialist would've been over. 

Carter returned Dick's smile. The Grayson boy was such a decent kid; he was both a serious performer and a hard worker! Not like the rest of these spoiled rich kids! 

And talented. 

Carter would have to talk to the boy's parents about possibly encouraging him to pursue a career in drama. In all his years as an actor and drama coach, Carter had never taught a student who was such a natural in assuming a role as Dick was. His Mercutio had been perfect. In fact, Dick had stolen the show up to that point. Yes, Carter was definitely going to talk to the boy's parents. 

"Okay, everybody!" Carter called. "Places!" The cast ran to assume their places for the final curtain call. "Curtain!" The stagehands immediately raised the curtain. Each of the major players took a separate bow. 

To Dick's amazed delight, the audience burst into a roaring applause when he took his bow, and then row upon row rose in a standing ovation. Overwhelmed, Dick bowed again, then surprised by his fellow cast members, he turned to face them. For they, too, had burst into enthusiastic applause. Several surrounded him and slapped him on the back. Taking a final bow, Dick took his place with the rest of the cast. 

Afterwards, several of the cast came backstage and congratulated Dick on his brilliant performance. 

"Grayson!" Carter called. "Grayson, are your parents in the audience, son?" Dick looked at him stunned. "Grayson, every summer I take two students with me to a summer stock workshop in New York. Usually, I hold auditions later in the Spring, but I know right now that I want you to be one of the two students. If you're interested, I'd like to talk to your parents about it." 

Carter smiled enthusiastically, oblivious to Dick's reaction. 

"In the past ten years, five of the students who took part in the workshop have gone on to successful careers on the stage, and one has gone on to a successful career in film. What do you say, Grayson? I think that at this moment, you're probably one of the most talented young actors that I've ever had in one of my productions." 

"I appreciate your confidence, Mister Carter, but--" 

"Mister Carter! Mister Carter! Come quickly!" Carter's production assistant came up to him in a rush. "Romeo just punched Juliet in the eye! He said the kiss at the end of Act Three was *too real* . . . whatever *that* means!" 

Carter blanched and began running in the direction of the fight. 

"No! We have a sold-out matinee and evening performance tomorrow! Juliet *can't* have a black eye. She just can't! I mean *he* can't! I mean . . . !" 

Dick grinned as he followed the sounds of the drama coach's despair through the back wings. 

"--but what, Dick?" 

"Bruce!" Dick spun around, his eyes lighting up. "You were in the audience? When did you get back? I thought--" 

"You thought what?" Bruce asked, walking up to his ward and placing his hand on his shoulder. "That I'd miss your stage debut?" 

Dick dropped his eyes. 

"The invitation was for my parents," Dick reminded Bruce. "I didn't think that you'd want to come." 

"I admit that I'm still kind of new at this parent business," Bruce replied softly. "But I've been receiving some of the best 'How to be a Parent' training by a kid who knows his stuff. You see, this kid had two of the best parents in world to show him how it was done; now he's showing me. Think there's any hope for me, Dick?" 

Dick nodded. 

"You bet! I heard you had a real high IQ, but that you had some serious gaps in your formal education." Dick smiled. "But don't worry. With hard work and perseverance, I think you'll soon be ready for your final exam." 

Bruce's eyes softened as he looked into his ward's blue eyes. He felt the words he wanted to say begin to form, when he was suddenly interrupted. 

"Mister Grayson!" It was Carter. 

Bruce saw a momentary flash of pain in Dick's eyes. Bruce's features hardened instantly. He turned an icy glare on Carter. How could the drama coach not know that Dick's parents were dead? He felt a sudden urge to protect Dick and punch out Carter. 

Dick quickly spoke up to prevent Bruce from snapping at Carter. 

"How's the fair Juliet?" he asked much too brightly. 

Carter rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

"She'll be the first Juliet in the history of the theater with a shiner, but you know what they say--" 

"--The show must go on!" Carter and Dick finished together grinning. Carter turned serious in the next moment. 

"Mister Grayson, I'd like to speak to you at your convenience about Dick. Your son has real talent. I think he could go far in the dramatic arts." 

Bruce felt a sudden pressure on his forearm. He glanced down at Dick who gave him a quick headshake. 

Message: Don't hit him! 

Bruce's studied his ward for a moment, then gave him an imperceptible nod: Message received. 

I won't hit him today, Bruce conceded silently. 

In all fairness to Carter, the playbill stated that the drama coach was a "Guest Artist in Residence" for the Spring term only, which meant that his position was temporary. He'd probably been too busy with the play's production to really get to know the students closely. 

Bruce introduced himself. 

"The name's Wayne, Mister Carter. Bruce Wayne. I'm Dick's legal guardian. His parents were killed a year ago." 

He paused, gazing steadily at Carter. Carter's eyes widened in realization at his mistake. He gave Dick an apologetic look. 

"Dick, I'm sorry, son . . . I didn't know . . . I--" 

Wayne interrupted. He almost felt sorry for Carter, but not quite. 

"I overheard you earlier about the summer stock workshop. I agree with you that Dick has real talent, but for me to allow him to leave home for a whole summer?" 

Bruce shook his head doubtfully; then he looked at Dick. 

"It's really up to you, Dick." Bruce shrugged his shoulders. 

"Of course, I was kind of hoping that you and I could do a few things together this summer. You know, father and son stuff. Get to know each other a little better. But what Mister Carter is offering you is a real big break. I wouldn't want to interfere with such an opportunity." 

Dick smiled broadly, and not taking his eyes off his guardian, he addressed his teacher. 

"Mister Carter, I really appreciate the chance, sir, but I don't feel like I'm ready to leave home for a whole summer yet. I hope you understand." 

"Of course, Dick," Carter said disappointedly. "But, hey, the final auditions won't happen for another four weeks. Should you change your mind, the offer still stands." 

"Thank you, sir," Dick said politely. 

"Master Dick!" Alfred called. "You were brilliant, young sir! Absolutely brilliant! I am so proud of you! I don't believe I've ever seen Mercutio played better. Why there wasn't a dry eye in the house! Even Master Bruce--" 

"--Uh, I think that Dick has heard enough of that, Alfred," Bruce interrupted. "Why don't we all go to the Gotham Skyline Restaurant for a celebration dinner? What do you say, Dick? Ready to face your public?" 

"As long as I have you and Alfred, Bruce, I'm ready to face anything!" 

The End #### 

15 


End file.
